We belong together
by smaugholmeswatson
Summary: An old one shot I wrote after season three was aired. This is how John and Sherlock should have been reunited in The Empty Hearse. I also answer the question that has bugged me for ages- what would happened if John saw Sherlock's scars? It annoys me that they never showed this in the actual show so I decided to fix that.


John sat alone in his newly rented accommodation, staring blankly at a television screen that wasn't even switched on. In one shaking hand he held a can of beer, occasionally lifting it to mouth to take a long sip. It was now three years since he saw Sherlock fall from the roof of St Bartholomew's Hospital and shatter upon the pavement below. Three years of nightmares and the horrible realisation he would never again go on a case with the detective. Even now the mere thought of that day was enough to cause John to cry himself to sleep... which wasn't something he wanted to dwell on right now. Swallowing hard he put the can back on the table and buried his head in his hands.

John couldn't believe how much he missed the detective. It frequently felt like someone had punched him in the chest and torn out his heart, leaving behind a terrible hollow emptiness that constantly threatened to swallow him whole. He sat back in the chair, his eyes burning with tears. It was late, the clock had chimed eleven over an hour ago, but John had no desire to go to sleep. It was in the darkness that the nightmares struck... Like a flood-gate bursting open a wave of sorrow flooded through him and he clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle a noisy sob.

It wasn't fair! John still couldn't understand why Sherlock had done it or what on earth could have driven him to the very edge and then encouraged him to take that final step. It couldn't have been what the newspaper said about him because John knew Sherlock didn't care what other people though of him- or at least that was what he had believed back then. Now he had given it some thought he wasn't sure if he had actually known the great detective at all. He was beginning to realise that despite how close they had become, there were some cards Sherlock had kept close to his chest. John didn't even know how the detective had thought of him; had he been a friend or simply a useful sounding board for the great genius... John could barely bring himself to examine that too closely.

John now wished the two of them had spoken about their feelings more. Maybe if they had the man who'd he'd spent most of his waking hours with wouldn't be such a mystery to him. There was so much the two of them should have talked about but the thing that stung the most was the fact he was never get to tell Sherlock that he loved him. Tears continued to stream down John's face even as he tried to push the thought aside. It was much too late to think about such things now. Sherlock was dead and John would never get to speak to him again...

Before a wave of despair could rise up and drag him under there came a loud and insistent sounding knock on the front door. John barely even looked up. Greg and Mycroft after all knew perfectly well where the spare key was and he couldn't be bothered to get up and let them in. The knocking carried on. Finally John stood and made his way over, muttering darkly under his breath as he did so. If it was a cold caller they were about to get a nasty shock. "What the hell do you want?" He demanded as he flung the door open.

John's voice trailed away when he saw who was standing outside on his doorstep. He was thinner then he remembered and the blue eyes had a faraway, haunted expression to them. The smile on the other hand...that was still exactly the same. John let out a strangled cry, his legs almost giving way beneath him. The person on the doorstep reached out to steady him, gripping his shoulders with hands that were shaking.

"Why now? It's been three years." John said in a quiet voice, barely able to process what his eyes were telling him. Surely there was no way this could be real. But the hands on his shoulders felt too warm and heavy to be a mere hallucination. Somehow, impossible though it was, it actually was Sherlock standing in front of him.

The blue eyes became sad. "I'm so sorry John. I-I didn't intend to be away for so long." Sherlock's deep voice was dull and lacking it's usual casual arrogance. "But I promise you that I can explain everything..." That was as far as Sherlock got because with a loud sob John flung his arms around the detective's waist and pressed his face into his chest. At first Sherlock froze, unsure how to react. Up until that moment he had never realised how much of an impact his disappearance had had on John. If he had known he would have sent word he was alive. He never would have allowed his friend to live with such a cloud above their head. Sherlock let out a sigh and reached out to pull John in closer, ignoring the jolt of pain as the movement tugged at the scars covering his back. "John." He murmured.

A shiver coursed down John's spine in response. It was amazing how right this felt, to be wrapped in Sherlock's arms and to already feel like the world made a little more sense. With a smile on his face John absently ran his hand down the length of Sherlock's spine, frowning when he felt the detective flinch beneath the touch. His heart beating a little faster John pulled away so he could look up into the blue eyes. For a brief blink and you miss it moment he saw pain shining in their depths. "Sherlock what is it? What's wrong?" He asked, his voice rising as panic began to set in. Something was wrong and John felt the joy at their reunion sour a little.

There was a long pause in which John began to fear he wouldn't get an answer. Then, after what was obviously a carefully thought decision, Sherlock let out a shaky breath and lightly pushed John away to arms length. "You have to understand that everything I did was to protect you. Up on the roof of the hospital Moriarty said he would kill you if I didn't jump. And not just you- Greg and Mrs Hudson were in danger as well. There was nothing I could do. I had to jump." Throughout the explanation his voice was low and pleading, needing John to understand why it had to happen. Why he had no choice but to fake his death.

John stared at Sherlock, desperately trying to understand what he was hearing. The fake suicide and all the subsequent emotions had all been because Sherlock was trying to protect the people he cared about... A sudden thought came to him. "But Moriarty died as well. Greg told me they found his body on the roof..." John wanted to hit himself for getting the very obvious point. "Which is why you had no choice. He literally left you with no way out." He shook his head. Only someone as crazy as Moriarty would actually kill themselves to bait their nemesis into a trap. John went to hug Sherlock again but paused when he saw the blank expression on the detective's face. It was obvious he was reliving painful memories.

Instead John contended himself with placing a gentle hand on Sherlock's angular cheek. The blue eyes refocused slightly and some of the pain drained away. "Oh Sherlock, I've missed you so much." He said, his voice soft. At the same time he became aware of just how close the two of them were. It would be a matter of stretching up slightly if he wanted to press his lips to Sherlock's... Before he could dwell on that train of thought Sherlock finished it by leaning down and pressing their lips together in a fierce kiss.

John felt an electrical tingle run down his spine in response and tangled his fingers in Sherlock's black curls, deepening the kiss as he did so and closing his eyes. He wanted to savour this moment for as long as it lasted.

John's hands rose to Sherlock's shoulders, easing down the heavy woollen coat before allowing it to drop to the carpet, where it lay in a crumpled heap. Neither of them gave it a second thought however, their minds firmly focused on other things. A smile crept into John's face when the detective let out a quiet moan of pleasure, the sound only making his desire surge stronger. He had wanted this ever since the swimming pool and the confrontation with Moriarty. It had been in that moment he realised just how much Sherlock cared about him. Even now he could still recall the shock and panic he had seen in the blue eyes. John planned to enjoy this.

Briefly breaking off the kiss so he could gasp in a shaky breath John slowly moved his hands down Sherlock's body, slipping them beneath his shirt and roaming over the rough skin beneath. John frowned. That wasn't right. Where there have been normal, smooth skin there were uneven, lumpy patches running in thin lines. He traced one with a fingertip. At the same time Sherlock let out a hiss of pain. Instantly John froze. What the hell was going on? Knowing that something wasn't right with the detective he quickly undid the buttons of the shirt, ignoring Sherlock's protests, and slid it off his shoulders. His eyes widened when he saw the damage.

John swallowed hard, almost falling when his knees tried to give way beneath him. Sherlock's back was a mess of raw looking, still healing scars that by the look of it had been stitched together by someone who didn't really know what they were doing. The doctor in John was horrified at the sight. It didn't take all that much effort to make scars look neat and so they would fade over time. Sherlock's however had been done by someone who very much wanted him to remember each and every one. But as it turned out these weren't even the worst of the injuries Sherlock had returned home with.

Noticing another one starting from the top of his shoulder blade John traced it all the way forward, circling Sherlock again to find that the scar ended halfway down his sternum. This scar was thicker and deeper, hinting it had been inflicted by something like a knife... John stumbled as a wave of shock and sudden realisation hit him with incredible force. There was no way these scars and wounds could be accidental. Each and every one had been carefully carved into Sherlock's skin. Which could only mean one thing- in the three years since he'd been gone someone had taken great delight in torturing the detective. John felt sick. No wonder Sherlock flinched at his touch. Judging by the redness of many of the scars there was still a way to go before they were fully healed.

John shook his head, not caring about the tears running down his cheeks. It made him feel ashamed to look back and realise how angry he had felt at times towards Sherlock, to remember the times he had cursed the detective's name. It all seemed so petty now, knowing as he did how much Sherlock had obviously suffered. "Sherlock, I'm sorry. I-I didn't know. If I had I wouldn't have... What I mean to say is...What happened to you Sherlock? Who hurt you?" He breathed, waiting to reach out and touch Sherlock but at the same time not wanting to hurt him any more then he already was.

Now it was Sherlock's turn to shake his head, his face pale and his hands shaking as he stared down at the floor. "Moriarty's network. I had to shut them all down before they tried to come after you. I thought that way you would be safe from danger." His voice broke and he found his eyes prickling with tears. He had never imagined returning to his life would be quite so hard. Old, painful memories threatened to rise and he squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block them out. The darkness however only made them worse. With a gasp his eyes flew open again and finally, unable to hold back three years worth of pain and terror any longer, he began to cry. His painfully thin body shook with the force of his sobs.

John hesitated for a moment, knowing that hugging Sherlock would hurt him. But he had never seen him like this in all their years of solving cases together... In the end John discovered he was unable to ignore Sherlock's pain. Making sure to be careful he wrapped his arms around the detective and pulled him close, reaching up to lightly stroke a hand through the black curls that were matted with dirt and what looked like blood. Not that John wanted to look too closely at that moment.

Almost immediately Sherlock relaxed slightly, some of the tension, draining from his muscles. John let out a sigh and swallowed hard past a lump in his throat so he could speak. "I'm sorry for ever doubting you. I'm sorry for actually believing you would commit suicide. But you're safe now, ok? You're safe and I will not allow anyone to hurt you ever again." He murmured quietly. God help anyone who tried to hurt Sherlock again, John thought as he once more buried his head in Sherlock's chest, inhaling the warm scent of his skin. One thing he knew for certain; he was never letting Sherlock out of his sight again.

For a long while there was silence. Then Sherlock shifted so he could gaze down into John's eyes. Though he still look haunted there was more peace in the blue eyes then when first arrived. "I'm sorry for leaving you John. Even if it was necessary at the time." He leant down to press a gentle kiss to John's forehead. "Just know that I only did it because I love you."

Those three little words were what John had been longing to hear for a while. His heart swelling almost to bursting with happiness he stood on tiptoe so his lips were inches away from Sherlock's. The detective licked his, his blue eyes dark with desire as he waited for him to make a move. A smile spread across John's face. "I love you too." He whispered in return before pressing his lips to Sherlock's in a fierce kiss, momentarily forgetting about his scars and the questioning that would undoubtedly come from Greg when he found out Sherlock had returned from the dead. For now John planned to savour the moment he was in, knowing without a doubt that balance had been restored to the world. John Watson and Sherlock Holmes were back together at last.


End file.
